Remembrance
by mooty
Summary: Harry pushes off from the ground for his last Quidditch match the World Cup final.


**Remembrance**

A fanfic of Harry Potter, which I do not own.

My 2nd fanfic only, please review! Thanks!

A one-chapter fic.

Please tell me how this goes. Thanks!

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He gripped the smooth wooden handle of the broomstick that had served him so faithfully since… since his teenage years.

How cheerful they had been as compared to the life he was leading.

His eyes looked in the general direction the crowd, the cheering crowd going wild waving the national colours, savouring a moment they had waited for since a few centuries ago.

In truth he was looking past them. He was thinking.

"Quidditch World Cup to Harry!" the nervous team captain allowed himself a snigger. "We're starting! This is it!"

Harry heard one of his nondescript teammates retort: "Not another pep talk, Greg, it's JUST a World Cup Final." Six people laughed.

_If only she could be here to witness my soon-to-be win._ Harry glanced up at the Top Box.He could see Ronald waving at him, his goofiness unchanged throughout the years. The flaming-red hair almost pained Harry to look at.

He remembered.

The world-renown referee – _that's what THEY said_, thought Harry, grinning to himself. _I haven't heard of him before today!_ – blew the whistle.

It was like a race to the air. Keepers gripped their broomsticks, tightly: _This was IT. _Harry wearily, but for some reason extra-speedily, tore through the air. _Let's make this fast for everyone. Get the Snitch now, we win, game over. _

"England have been underdogs for so long, but they seem to be standing a chance against the heavyweights Bulgaria! Bulgaria are the home team afterall, and have qualified for the finals in 3 of the previous 8 World Cups. England are at their first final since the 1659 Final, and we all know how THAT turned out!" The magically magnified voice filled the pitch better than Surround Sound.

Within one minute's time half the crowd had erupted, and a few had made a small fortune. The odds of England scoring the opener was enough to ensure that. Harry smiled, but continued searching for the elusive golden ball which more often than not decided the outcome of the match. _Best to end this fast!_

The half-hour buzzer sounded, and it was "40-0 to the underdogs, great seamless display there by the Chasers, and what on earth is that Bulgarian Keeper do – GOAL! It's 50-0! Letterson has bagged a hat-trick!"

Harry was impatient by now. The Snitch was hiding itself, as if under orders to prolong the Final. He glanced at the Bulgarian Seeker. A large figure on a rough broomstick, smirked Harry. How can that sort of person represent a World Cup team?

Harry knew his self-worth. He had caught the Snitch everytime, leading the team through qualifiers, and an easy route to the Final. His feat enabled everyone who watched England's matches to expect a quick game of under half an hour. However, he was tired this time…

The balls rained upon the Bulgarian Keeper, and it was 130-30 at the hour-mark. A hundred-point lead did not allow Harry to relax, though. The captor of the Snitch was still the winner. However, he was pelted by a Bludger the single time he had caught sight of the Snitch, and the slow doddering Seeker on the opposite side made Harry feel at ease. _As long as I don't get the Snitch, he will never get it, _concluded Harry.

The Bulgarian Keeper was substituted after one hour and a half, but this only seemed to bring about more misery for the Bulgarian team – 190-50 was the score at two hours. Harry did the math: 10 more points for them and it would be a draw even if that sloth of a Seeker got the Snitch, which was highly unlikely… -

"Harry! Are you listening?" Harry looked up. The manager glared at him. Harry returned the glare. It was the same old timeout when they were winning. The talk normally just comprised instructions to defend, same old tactic that had gotten them to the Final. Nothing that Harry should bother himself with.

"I was asking you if you wanted to be substituted! You seemed tired, and it's understandable, after that nasty business with…" the manager's voice trailed off, and he exchanged glances with the other players. Player No. 16, the one whose name Harry could not remember, chimed in.

"Yeah Harry, let me replace you for a moment, for you to catch your breath a little?"

Harry sighed. He was used to those pathetic youngsters who harboured dreams of playing in major games. Who wanted to become like him. _I got to play at my age simply because I am talented! Not everyone has my ability! _"I am NOT tired. We cannot afford to make substitutions now when the game is not won! I shall play on and we shall win. I know how much you benchers want to play, but a winner's medal is much better than a loser's, and we cannot afford to take any risks!"

Timeout over. Harry flew back up, eyes darting around for the Snitch.

He saw It.

But so did Sloth. Only Sloth was farther away from that winning opportunity, and he flew much slower. Harry smiled inwardly. He remembered times when he was a kid, and was anticipating great fun that would definitely come. The wait was unbearable.

Harry could NOT wait. He lunged out, away from the seat of his broomstick. His hands closed in on the Snitch.

But it did not feel like the Snitch. He had only air in his fist.

And he was hurtling through the air. Too fast to notice that two seconds after he leapt from his broomstick, Sloth lumbered forward and clutched the Snitch.

But he was thinking. _I have gotten the Snitch! We have won! _He hit the grass with a sickening sound that represented body against grass.

The Bulgarian crowd cheered. It was their first win in so long…

His body was buried right beside Ginny Weasley.


End file.
